As parents and peers look towards the cybertopia of the twenty-first century, a movement of youthful pagans is turning to ancient wisdom and nature for a sense of spiritual purpose. Some are working within the social and political realms to save the natural systems they hold dear, while trying to avoid modern habits they see as part of a high-tech, money-oriented lifestyle. A. Clay Thompson is on the staff of YO! (Youth Outlook), a newspaper by and about Bay Area youth produced by Pacific News Service.

Tim is going to Scotland and wants to see the redwoods one more time before he leaves. The problem is that the redwoods are up in Humboldt County and Tim, like most of his friends, doesn't have a car. He calls around to various pals who share his love for the thousand-year-old trees, but isn't able to find a ride. The tall, lanky 20-year-old shakes his dreadlocked head and sighs: "Oh well, I guess I'll see them in the fall."

Tim's journey -- from a small town in Pennsylvania; to a recycling job at UC Berkeley and classes on "sustainable communities" at New College of California; to the ancient forests of the Pacific West; and finally to Scotland to study organic agriculture -- is a spiritual voyage. His life, he says, is driven by "an awareness of the earth, of all living beings."

Tim shares his voyage with a growing number of like-minded souls. As parents and peers look towards the cybertopia of the twenty-first century, these youthful pagans turn to ancient wisdom and old-growth forests for inspiration and a sense of purpose. Some are motivated to save America's last native forests -- five percent of what once covered the country -- and defend the species endangered by civilization. Others are repelled by the virtual reality of a wired world and a paved globe, and seek healing through connection with a natural world they hold sacred.

Tim's daily routine consists of rituals of respect for the earth. He keeps a strict vegan diet (no meat or dairy) because it has "positive consequences" for the earth through reduced resource consumption. He tried to explain his dietary discipline to a friend's mom and found she didn't get it. "She just kept saying, 'God gave us the animals."' Tim says this is a fundamental difference between Judeo-Christian traditions and Earthen spirituality. "Most pagan groups, even if they endorse the consumption of animals, think respect for other creatures is paramount."

Another ritual object comes in the less-than-mystical form of a beat-up ten-speed. Tim, along with many other young people, denounces the automobile as polluting, socially atomizing and environmentally disastrous. "I could maybe justify a van if I were going to live in it and not drive it much," he tells me as I follow him on his daily bicycle commute. "But to have a car just to tool around the city belching filth into the sky -- I can't do it."

When he gets to Scotland, Tim plans to participate in the United Kingdom's Road Wars. For the last five years, thousands of UK enviros have waged a non-violent crusade against car culture that has redefined green protest. The anti-auto activists have shut down busy highways for "street parties," and built and occupied tree-house villages in forests slated to be cut for road building. "I want to get involved with those campaigns and bring the tactics back here," Tim explains.

Condor, a 25-year-old camping store clerk, is a veteran of American-style eco-wars. Along with hundreds of Earth First! members and Forest Defenders, he has blockaded logging roads in Oregon to protest and halt clear cutting of old-growth forests. "People driven by the Earth Spirit have green fire in our eyes," says Condor, explaining why he's willing to take risks to save trees. "We're on the front lines. We're willing to live in the forest to save it."

For people like Condor, struggles for the environment are part of a holy war, driven by a sense of being "part of something greater, part of the web of life." Condor recalls an epiphany that struck him in the midst of battle, when lumber company security forces began shooting at him and other protesters in the forest: "I ran up an embankment an embankment and lay beneath a redwood. As I lay there, panicked, I realized that the roots of the tree were cradling me like my mother's arms once had. In those fleeting moments, I lost my fear of death and realized that I'm here on this earth to fight for these trees."

Chelsea, 19, says she doesn't identify with any one brand of Paganism, but amalgamates many earth-centered ideas into her spiritual outlook. A tattooed snake slithers around her arm, with Pagan symbols -- the Goddess, a pentacle (five-pointed star) and an Ankh -- worked into the scales. Like Tim, Chelsea maintains a vegan diet and says she is "really aware of the resources I use." Many nature-lovers she observes, "take their little vacations, go camping or whatever," but never really deal with the environmentally devastating effects of their high-tech, money-oriented lifestyles.

"With some religions you do your thing on Sundays," Chelsea notes. "I try to do my thing every day."

Karyn, 20, says her Earth spirituality is reflected in her efforts to make her material goods last as long as possible -- a heretical notion in this disposable culture. "I try not to buy new clothes," she says. "I mend my store-bought ones, or make my own garments."

The Earth spiritualists are united in their belief that our disrespect for the planet is rooted in our secular attitude towards it. "People wouldn't pour toxic waste into a church, but they'll pour it into the ocean," says Condor, his ire rising. "The ocean is as sacred as any church."